


Now in thy dazzling half op'ed eye

by MercuryGray



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray
Summary: Mansion House gets visitors aplenty - but most of them are not this young.(or - in which Henry Hopkins proves remarkably adept at holding babies.)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	Now in thy dazzling half op'ed eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BroadwayBaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [lighter looks the gloomy eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858047) by [MercuryGray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray). 



> Now in thy dazzling half-op'ed eye,   
> Thy curled nose and lip awry,   
> Uphoisted arms and noddling head,   
> And little chin with crystal spread,   
> Poor helpless thing! what do I see,   
> That I should sing of thee? 
> 
> Joanna Baille, A Mother To Her Waking Infant
> 
> For broadwaybaggins, who needed more Henry with babies.
> 
> Originally published on Tumblr February 2017

Emma Green had received a summons. 

She had to confess she was excited by the prospect; during all her time with the Confederate soldiers she’d had few visitors to escort onto the ward, and fewer still family members to comfort or console. It was a hard job, and one that she’d watched Mary Phinney and Anne Hastings at with keen interest. She’d learned the general pattern for such matters and was anxious to try it; nothing too terrible at first, and news of impending deaths - if they did not know already - broken only after the family had been given a chance to see their son, or husband, or brother. Rooms offered, if they did not have accommodation already, and bags stored. 

And today, it seemed, was finally the day. “A family, Jacobson?” she asked the orderly, just to make sure she hadn’t misheard him.

“For a Private Fletcher, ma’am. Down from Rhode Island.”

Emma nodded and made her way downstairs, where the matron was already greeting the arrival in the front hall. Not a family, but rather a single person, waiting awkwardly in the hall. Pretty, and young, too, holding a wrapped package to her chest in an awkward position, as though she were protecting it from something.  _ She’s not much older than me,  _ Emma realized, observing the pale face peeking out from the plain bonnet.

“First time away from home, dearie?” Brannan was asking, trying to be polite as she busied herself in the hospital register. The awestruck woman started a little at being spoken to, but she remembered herself enough to nod, still clutching at her bundle. “Ah, Miss Green, there you are,” the Matron said with a smile, clearly relieved to have done with the woman. “Private Fletcher’s wife’s come down from Delaware. Perhaps you can apprise her while we walk.”

Emma nodded, smoothing her skirts and trying to arrange her face into a more professional mien. “He’s just this way, if you’d care to…”

A thin, weary wail split the air, and all heads turned as one, the sound unmistakable and yet, so foreign. There was hardly a sound of pain that was now unheard inside these walls, but this one was... _new._

A baby was an unknown commodity at Mansion House.

Mrs. Fletcher fumbled a little bit with the bundle she’d been holding awkwardly to her chest, the plaid of the shawl wrapping peeling back to reveal a little moon of a face, waking up from a sound sleep and none too happy for it. She looked around, her smile apologetic. “Four months,” She said, by way of explanation, as the Matron and Emma gaped. “Of course I couldn’t leave him at home, when Jimmy might…”

“Of course, Mrs. Fletcher,” Matron agreed quickly, her eyes softened by the familiar sound. “He’ll be wanting his breakfast, I expect. There’s a room upstairs, if you -”

“He can wait,” she said, rocking the child back and forth with little bouncing steps. “He’ll see his father first.”

Brannan exchanged a look with Emma, but they went along with it, waiting until the infant’s cries had quieted before taking Mrs. Fletcher upstairs to the ward in which her husband was lying. Heads turned in the hallways as they trooped past, men sitting up in their beds as the group walked by, as solemn as if the color was being trooped - their ears had not deceived them! A baby! Truly! Here! What a sight for homesick eyes was a little face resting on a shoulder, a pair of curious, wide eyes gazing out into the gloom. Men watched, amazed, many no doubt, thinking of their own children at home, the babies they had left growing bigger, the infants they had only read of and never met. Their lingering, longing gazes haunted Emma. 

Private Fletcher’s bedside was already occupied, the man deep in conversation with Chaplain Hopkins over a tattered testament that very much exemplified the expression ‘been through the war.’ (One sleeve of his shirt was empty, cuffed to the elbow, the private’s remaining hand resting on the little book. His wife would have been told already - perhaps that was the reason for her fear?) Fletcher looked up as his wife came in, his face wreathed in smiles that could not have gotten any broader until he saw the figure of the baby in her arms. Hopkins, seeing what was behind him, rose and moved silently away, happy to give up his place.

“It’s Daddy, don’t you see?” Mrs. Fletcher said softly the baby, moving so she might take a seat at her husband’s side. “It’s your pa.” She offered the baby’s tiny face to her husband, the two of them both struggling not to cry.

“Hey there, little stranger,” his father said with a smile, bringing his remaining arm up to awkwardly try to stroke the child’s face. “You weren’t more than the size of a melon before I left, and look at you now. And causing your ma trouble already, I expect. Just like your pa.” He looked disappointed in himself.

“Oh, Jimmy.” Her eyes slid to his empty sleeve.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Soph,” Fletcher reassured her. “Honest.”

Mrs. Fletcher was struggling, clearly wanting to offer a hand to her husband - but with her arms full she could do little.

Hopkins saw the flitter of pain across her face and intervened. “May I?” Surprised stares from the assembled women -- Mrs. Fletcher’s most of all. “My sister has four,” he offered with a smile. “I expect your arms are tired.”

Mrs. Fletcher hesitated a minute, torn between her ministrations to her husband and her child, but the desire for physical comfort was too strong. “Hold his --”

“Head, yes,” Hopkins said with a smile, taking the infant with practiced hands. “There, there, little man. Give your mother a rest a minute, won’t we?” He smiled placidly at the little face, who stared back in wide-eyed bewilderment, wondering who this new stranger with the blue eyes was. And, easily bouncing on his feet, he wove back and forth at the foot of the bed while the rest of the ward watched in slack-jawed amazement, finally remembering their manners and returning to books and letters and the observation of the ceiling so that Private Fletcher and his wife might have a moment to speak, their heads pressed together in close communion.

Emma was used to watching these reunions carefully - despite even the best of warnings, it was always a shock, seeing the man one loved armless or legless, or worse. She’d seen plenty of wives take one look and refuse to go further, turning away in horror at a beloved face scarred irreparably, a well-known body half-gone, refusing to believe that this was still the man they’d married. But her attention was not on Private Fletcher and his wife, but rather Hopkins, cradling the baby with surprising ease. She pressed a hand to her corset, as if she could remind her stomach not to flutter.

“You’d think he’d one of his own at home,” the Matron said with a sage smile, watching with Emma from the doorway of the ward as Hopkins gently handed the baby back, helping to nestle him into the Private’s remaining arm so his proud father could beam down at him. “It looks well on him.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, distracted, still staring. Hopkins looked up at her and smiled, and all the stern warnings in the world couldn’t stop her from another rush of feeling.  _ And wouldn’t it look well with a nice shock of dark hair like yours, Miss Green, and those blue eyes of his? _

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this is just me, but there is something unspeakably attractive about men who are good with children, particularly when you had no idea they were good with children and didn't think to expect it of them.
> 
> Frequent readers will recognize Emma's orderly as Private Jacobson the boxing fan from To Fight Aloud is Very Brave. No word yet on what Jacobson thinks of his new hero's baby-holding abilities.


End file.
